


Toy Soldiers

by neversaydie



Series: Like Real People [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bittersweet, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Christmas, Christmas Lights, Christmas Miracles, Genderqueer Bucky, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Binary Bucky, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-War, post-CATWS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:11:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't remember the lights from his childhood.</p><p>Steve says there were lights. Stores would hang strings of electric bulbs, white when they were young and twinkling rainbow by the time they were old enough to wear long pants. They'd go to see the big displays, walk further than Steve could sensibly handle in the grey slush that came up to their ankles, and Bucky would give him a piggyback ride half of the way home when the streets were dark and even Steve's stubbornness wouldn't keep him on his feet anymore. </p><p>Steve tells him about the lights, tries to spark some recognition every time they pass a department store's window display (apparently the things Steve recognises are called 'vintage' now, which he finds funny in a bittersweet kind of way), but Bucky can only nod along with blankness behind his eyes. There's an empty space where the memories Steve's trying to reach are supposed to be, and Bucky doesn't have the heart to tell him that there's nothing there but scorched earth and ashes.</p><p>Some things he gets back, some things were burned out of him and the ground salted so they could never regrow. Christmas seems to be one of the things that isn't ever coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toy Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> For Jen, who I love more and get more proud of every day.

He doesn't remember the lights from his childhood.

Steve says there were lights. Stores would hang strings of electric bulbs, white when they were young and twinkling rainbow by the time they were old enough to wear long pants. They'd go to see the big displays, walk further than Steve could sensibly handle in the grey slush that came up to their ankles, and Bucky would give him a piggyback ride half of the way home when the streets were dark and even Steve's stubbornness wouldn't keep him on his feet anymore. They used to wander around when it snowed and watch the flakes catch the coloured light in dreamy swirls, Bucky breaking the spell by trying to persuade Steve to go home and warm up every ten minutes.

Steve tells him about the lights, tries to spark some recognition every time they pass a department store's window display (apparently the things Steve recognises are called 'vintage' now, which he finds funny in a bittersweet kind of way), but Bucky can only nod along with blankness behind his eyes. There's an empty space where the memories Steve's trying to reach are supposed to be, and Bucky doesn't have the heart to tell him that there's nothing there but scorched earth and ashes.

Some things he gets back, some things were burned out of him and the ground salted so they could never regrow. Christmas seems to be one of the things that isn't ever coming back.

It was summer when he first came back to himself, holed up in the closet of an empty apartment and still dripping the stinking water of the Potomac from his tac gear. It was autumn by the time he'd figured out how to behave like a human for long enough in public places to go undetected beneath his ratty baseball cap. And by the time winter came, that was the first time his head was quiet enough for Bucky to realise he missed voices that weren't echoes.

There were voices everywhere at Christmas, whatever that was supposed to mean. A celebration, from the intelligence he gathers blending in with the masses in locations that would cause too much collateral civilian damage and attention even for HYDRA to try and ambush him. The same rotation of songs seems to play continuously in all the major retail centres, and decorative trees and ornaments formed from plastic and cheap metal appear to be votive, possibly, although he's not sure to which deity they're being offered.

Occasionally he sees a baby in a small box, angels clustered around it. He wishes someone would realise that boxes mean pain, not sleeping, and that angels wear lab coats when the cold rushes in.

With so many voices coming from all directions (children, screaming, laughing, he can't tell the difference and it makes cold sweat trickle down the back of his neck because he can't tell if _he made them scream that was outside the mission parameters_ ), it's not until the noise is suddenly, glaringly absent that Bucky realises he'd been comforted by it. He'd been less lonely with the constant hum of life around him, felt the soothing smallness of being one of many tiny parts of a whole instead of the sole focus of people who could use him again. Then one day, things go quiet.

Walking through the dead streets with the freezing wind biting at him through his too-thin stolen jacket and making his flesh hand tremble in his pocket, Bucky feels sharply, startlingly alone. He trudges under strings of glowing lights, catching snippets of life behind windows that seal in warmth and keep him away. He's done this before, crouched on rooftops and watched families open presents through a rifle scope while he waited for a clear shot, but he's never had the freedom to _look_ before.

One street has windows full of decorative candlesticks, at least one in each house. Some glowing neon, some with the dull gleam of tradition and the flicker of real flames on real candles. Another street, more candles, this time in black, red, and green. He feels confused when he passes a church and sees a large poster that reads _Keep CHRIST in Christmas!_ because surely there's only one way to spell the word.

The smell of incense rolling from the church doors and the faint sound of singing almost draws him inside, but a flash of memory sends him thudding down to sit on the cold stone steps outside the building instead.

 

_"Líbera me, Dómine, de morte ætérna, in die illa treménda…"_

_Steve's shoulder is bony against his arm, holding himself so rigid he looks like he'd snap in two if he tried to move suddenly. He's already done all his crying, Bucky knows he won't break down in public when he's trying to put on a good front and make his Ma proud, but his eyes are red-rimmed and his face puffy and sore from the cheap scratch of his handkerchief. Bucky doesn't know how he's keeping it together, because he's this close to shedding a tear himself._

_The priest continues his solemn rites and Bucky reaches up, surreptitiously, to brush the tips of his fingers over Steve's palm. Nobody can see the small gesture of support, not where they're standing shoulder to shoulder in the packed-out church, because Sarah Rogers saved brothers and mothers and sons and daughters her entire life and everyone owes her some debt of gratitude, but Steve's response still surprises Bucky. The second he feels the touch, Steve grabs Bucky's hand and clings to it hard enough to leave bruises, clutching at the lifeline with a fine tremor that makes it feel like he's going to come apart at the seams if he doesn't have something to hold._

_Bucky hangs on just as tight, because it wouldn't be the first time he's got his fingers broken for Steve and it's probably not the –_

"Hey."

He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there, staring at the lights strung around the metal bars of the church fence while lost in his head, but he blinks and it's dark and there's a person standing in front of him.

The man has dark skin and kind, concerned eyes that don't quite match his bulk. Bucky doesn't know his face, he thinks, although there's something oddly familiar about the slant of his cheekbones. He could be wrong, but he's too frozen and confused to be sure of anything in this moment. He hopes the man doesn't want to kill him or take him in, because he's too tired to fight.

"You okay, man? You've been sitting there for a while now." The voice isn't familiar at all, but Bucky still eyes the newcomer warily before he speaks, voice rusty and jagged with disuse. He can't remember the last time he spoke. Maybe the last failed mission.

"I was looking at the lights." It comes out in English, at least, which is some small victory in a war that only exists inside his head. The man nods and sits down on the steps beside him, enough of a distance between them that Bucky doesn't feel compelled to flinch away. He could neutralise this threat if it became one, so he stays where he is.

"You got somewhere to go, once you're done looking at the lights?" His voice is very quiet, a match to the silently-falling snow that Bucky hadn't noticed until he sees a flake catch in his companion's eyelashes, and it's a balm of comfort against the silence. The church service must have finished and the congregation left for their warm homes behind glass that Bucky can't touch. "You got a home and something to eat?"

"I don't know." Bucky swallows a few times before he replies, because he hadn't thought about it while he was exploring the silence and the lights, but he can't remember where he left his backpack or where he slept last night. If he slept at all.

"You could come back to my place, if you want. Got heat and plenty of food." The man is faking nonchalance, Bucky can tell, and it puts him immediately on alert. He gets up off the steps quickly, stiff legs protesting at the sudden movement that apparently alarms his companion. "Woah, hey, just a suggestion. Nobody's gonna make you."

"No." Bucky says, firmly, which is as close to 'I don't want to' as he can force his mouth to form. He feels sick the moment the syllable slips out, but he doesn't take it back. The man stands up too, but a lot more slowly and with carefully telegraphed movements that Bucky can track before they happen.

"That's okay. Here." The guy already has his wallet in hand, which is lucky because Bucky has a knife ready to go if he reaches for anything that could be a concealed weapon, and he pulls out a few bills and holds them out to Bucky, not coming closer. "Get somewhere to sleep and something to eat, alright?"

Bucky takes the money quickly, stuffing it into his pocket without counting it. They might have the serial numbers tracked, but he'll be gone faster than they can use that to estimate his location and come looking. He peers at the man from under his cap warily, not sure what's really going on.

"Why?" He asks, eventually. The man twitches a small smile, something in his eyes that Bucky can't read.

"It's Christmas. Can't go hungry at Christmas." He looks like he wants to say something else, and it's only because he's not eager to go back to the silence that Bucky sticks around to hear it. "He misses you, y'know."

It turns out that even the silence is better than touching that open wound he can't even look at directly yet.

Bucky's gone before the last syllable is out of the man's mouth.

 

_"What'd you get?"_

_"Socks. And a banana." Steve grins proudly, all four feet of him with his bright red nose bundled up in his lumpy knitted scarf as they kick their way through the snowy streets. They usually see each other on Christmas Day, usually duck out after church for a little while when their moms are busy pretending they're not gossiping about the other families in the building. "You?"_

_There's a little twist in Bucky's gut when he sticks his hands in his pockets and feels the little wooden toy soldiers his Dad got him for Christmas. The six of them are fully painted and everything, a lot fancier than any toys Steve has, and Bucky's just getting old enough to feel weird about the fact that he and his best friend don't have the same amount of money at home._

_"I got some soldiers." Bucky pulls them out to show Steve and grins when his friend's eyes get comically big in his thin face. In a spur of the moment decision, he holds out his left hand and shoves three soldiers towards Steve. "These ones are for you, though."_

_"Why?" Steve takes the soldiers with a slight frown, like he's not sure why he's getting a present from his best friend. "I didn't get you something. You can have my banana if you want."_

_"Nah, s'okay. It's not fun if you've got nobody to play with." Bucky waves him off with a grin, which seems to soothe the suggestion of wounding Steve's pride._

_"Alright." He looks the soldiers over curiously, and Bucky can tell he's going to be just as puffed up with pride about them as he was about his new socks. "But you've gotta be Germany first."_

_"You're all wet, Rogers." Bucky grumbles, chasing after Steve when he breaks into a run towards the park._

_Cold slush spraying up and wetting his socks and his trousers and the wind sharp on his face and hurting his teeth because his mouth is open wide to laugh._

_The best Christmas Day he ever had. Bucky doesn't remember it anymore._

"I'm getting worried now."

Steve has been pacing by the window for the last two hours, occasionally accepting a drink or a flimsy paper hat or trying to distract himself with conversation with the rest of the team. Bucky had been missing from his room this morning, taken off before the stupidly-early Tower-wide alarm Tony had set to make sure everyone was present for the 'Christmas magic' of the gift exchange.

Bucky's pile of presents sat untouched, and Steve had deposited them all on his bed still wrapped and waiting for their recipient to come home to them. Dinner passed in a blur for him, the good feeling of his friends around him and satisfaction of good food in his belly ("This is exactly why we made three times as much as we were going to, Steve, you ate a whole turkey on your own!") is dampened by the empty seat to his right, the empty space glaring at him whenever he looks over to see the little smile twitching across Bucky's face at one of Barton's terrible jokes.

"How was he last night?" Sam has stopped by to say hi to everyone and exchange gifts before heading back to his own family gathering, and he'd immediately clocked Steve's brooding with concern. He's usually vaguely concerned about one or other of the Rogers-Barnes double act, so he's not surprised to find out that Bucky has done a disappearing act (again) when he gets Steve on his own.

"Quiet. But not upset or anything, he was fine." Steve runs a hand anxiously over his face, the familiar gesture he makes when he wants to punch something until it fixes his current problem but he can't think of something appropriate to punch. "I called a couple of his usual haunts, nobody's seen him. I dunno when I'm supposed to start freaking out."

"I don't think you need to, not yet." He sounds a lot calmer than Steve had expected him to (genuinely calmer, he means, he's used to Sam's forced calm to try and keep a lid on a situation when someone is freaking out), and steals a napkin from Tony's festive cookie display(™) to scribble something down on. "Try here, before you turn into bad Santa and break the Christmas tree in half."

"I wasn't gonna…" Steve trails off with a sigh and takes the address before pulling Sam into a slightly-crushing hug.

He doesn't know what the hell he'd do without Sam Wilson. He really doesn't. He definitely should have got him a better Christmas present than fancy socks.

 

_The Asset is instructed to put on unusual tac gear. It can't understand the advantages of red velvet and fake white fur to a stealth mission, but it isn't in a position to question its orders. It is under instructions to silently infiltrate the target's house, sit in front of the festive tree decoration, and say 'Merry Christmas' before shooting him between the eyes._

_It doesn't question. It has no reason to when HYDRA has been so benevolent as to allow it a sleeping bag against the cold weather while it stakes out the target._

_Perhaps it has finally been through enough pain to achieve order._

 

"Hey, Buck."

Bucky blinks slowly, chasing the sparkling lights out of his eyes so he can focus on the man in front of him. Bigger than last time, pale and blond and broad against the dark sky and the bright lights wrapped around the church gates.

"Hi." He croaks, then clears his throat once he hears the gravel in his voice. He's all bundled up in the hat and scarf Steve knitted for him after he cut his hair, the long puffy coat Natasha helped him pick out and the fluffy gloves Bruce had gifted him from god knows where. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting here, but he's not that cold in spite of the chill of the dark falling around him.

"What you doing out here?" Steve doesn't sound worried, not when he's got Bucky in his sights and he can tell he's not injured or checked out of his head, but he looks curious. "Are you okay?"

"I was looking at the lights." He smiles, because he's pretty sure he's happy about it. He's a little confused, he'll admit, but Steve is here and there are twinkling lights and snow and it feels like the rest of the world has finally left them alone for a while. "Sorry I left."

"It's okay, I just wondered where you went." Steve holds out his hand and Bucky takes it with his weaker one, turquoise glove soft against Steve's callused palm. "Can I look at the lights with you?"

"I'll show you the street with the candles." Bucky lets Steve pull him to his feet but keeps their hands joined. Steve looks at the church with slightly pained eyes and Bucky can't let that happen, so he pulls him away from the smell of incense and age and towards the snow-soft silent streets beyond the gates. "C'mon, Steve. They've got stars too."

"I think the candles are called menorahs." He always says it like that when he's telling Bucky something obvious that he doesn't remember, like he's not sure about it himself as if that'll make Bucky feel less stupid. "Did you walk by the big—"

"The store front? Yeah, I saw the big wooden soldiers in their display. They kinda look like the ones we…" He trails off and stops in his tracks, turning in the middle of the street and the sleeting snow to look at Steve with wonder. "I had three and you had three."

"Well, it's no fun if you've got nobody to play with." Steve looks like he wouldn't give a shit if his smile split his face in half right now. Bucky swallows thickly and starts pulling him along again, chattering about the lights he's seen and trying not to get too choked up over what might be his very own Christmas miracle.

Somewhere on scorched earth, under electric Christmas lights, something green starts to grow.


End file.
